


Paradox Profile

by Artist_in_Space



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Dani Powell, BAMF JT Tarmel, BAMF Malcolm Bright, Basically this is a feel good story but also hit with feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gil Arroyo Acting as Malcolm Bright's Parental Figure, Good Parent Jessica Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell Friendship, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Martin Whitly Being an Asshole, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 01, Protective Dani Powell, Protective Gil Arroyo, Protective Team, Team Dynamics, Team Feels, Team as Family, also with a lot of crime of course, how do people write shows they're amazing, my attempt at S2 hell yeah, so get ready
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26226559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artist_in_Space/pseuds/Artist_in_Space
Summary: Everything feels wrong to Bright.Gil shouldn't be stuck in the hospital. His sister shouldn't be in the psychiatric ward being charged for murder. He shouldn't be having a hard time pinpointing their suspect for the latest case because he should be-- he should be good at what he does.When a victim was shot and almost left for dead, the team is troubled by the lack of sufficient evidence to correctly pinpoint the suspect. Every evidence either goes off to a dead-end or something unrelated-- and it would only be a matter of time before the case turns cold.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright & Edrisa Tanaka, Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel, Malcolm Bright & Jessica Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Sunshine the Bird
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	1. PROLOGUE: The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> This is a start of a long, long story and I hope that I can deliver what I hope to deliver. My friend called it "writing what Season 2 may be" and honestly? Yeah lol
> 
> I wanted to create a story that is quite interesting, with a crime that is a bit of a parallel to the situation of Malcolm and his family. I wanted to explore the Team's whole dynamic with the lack of Gil, Ainsley and Martin's similarities and differences, while the crime progresses.
> 
> Anyway, this is story will be a bit slow moving (or...something), every few chapters is an "episode" and I'll try to simulate what an episode of Prodigal Son would look like in writing--hence a lot of Bright, but also POV changes here and there. I always have guides, so don't worry :D
> 
> So without further ado, I present my story, Paradox Profile.

**NOW**

“—it was, it was awful, I couldn’t make out any of the words, I was— too high up in the staircase, but all I could see was—was Gil being mad, and I’ve known him for far too long and I know that he was irate for Malcolm—“. Jessica fluttered her hand towards her face, as if to avoid crying and ruining her mascara. Dani nodded. “—then, that awful, awful man just… just orders one of his lackeys! One of his lackeys to s-stab G-Gil—“

Jessica’s breathing shuddered, and she twisted her shoal, a hint of tremor developing in her arms. Dani offered her the tissue box, and the woman across her nodded gratefully.

It had just been half an hour since Gil was brought to the hospital by a hysterical Jessica, and after that, was Dani’s call from Bright who had asked her to accompany her mother. Apparently, Gil had been stabbed, and was dying in the hospital; Malcolm himself was still en route to New York (after going who knows where especially with the allegations with evolving him) and he couldn’t contact his sister.

Dani had been already out of the door before Bright ended his explanation, calling JT about the incident in Endicott’s house to route the crime scene.

“He fell down and I had to run back to the room, tried to call 9-1-1 but god, how—it was so **slow,** always like that, why is it a **hotline** if the call is picked up later than when I phone my **manicurist—** “, Jessica’s breath shuddered. “I was so scared.”

“Ma’am,” JT spoke up as he went in, restraining order against Nicholas Endicott already filled out. “Details relevant to the case, please.”

“R-Right.” Jessica blew out a sigh, composing herself. “Then in a fit of panic, when that _vile_ man sat, I just— _knew_ , that I had to get back, so I smashed a plate to his face—“, she giggled in a bit of hysteria, doing the motion of a fanning hand once more. “It was self-defense because my **god** I don’t know what he’d do to me if I even said a hint of ‘no’ to his face after seeing that. I hope, if that man tells me about ‘assault’, I can spin it to self-defense. “

JT nodded in agreement. “No doubt, ma’am. Besides, Endicott’s been reported of silencing people but there’s been—“, he paused, then continued anyway. “If anyone deserves a plate to the face, it’s him, in all possible circumstances.”

Dani smiled at the moment of levity, though she nodded to let Jessica speak again. The faster they could pull out a justification from Jessica, the faster they can do something against the man in question.

“Then I went down, and I saw Gil’s keychain for his car and went—did my best to get inside as fast as I could because I had this hunch that they’d be bringing Gil somewhere. So I did the best I could; hit the car, and I was so, **so** damn **_lucky_** that the trunk was open. I pulled him out and brought him here. He couldn’t even t-talk,” her lips quivered. “I think I was shouting at someone from the entrance, I hope that they weren’t too irked, oh dear god, the Whitly woman going crazy like her _husband_ —

JT moved to sit down beside her, taking over the role in calming Jessica’s nerves. “Ma’am Whitly, we assure you that—“

Dani’s phone vibrated in her pocket, making her look down. She scrambled to answer her phone as she saw the caller ID.

Bright.

“Bright?” She called in worry. He was in the hospital. Had something happen to Gil? Was Gil okay?

She saw Jessica’s and JT’s gazes turn towards her. Jessica looked ashen white, paler than she was already a second ago. “M-Malcolm—“

Bright’s breathing was harsh, and there was constant movement. “W-Wait, Dani.” A shift again, and something like ‘don’t tell them, Malcolm **please—** ‘, filtered in her ears. “Ains, please don’t make this harder—“

“Ainsley?” Dani stood. Ainsley was at home, according to Jessica. Either sibling could’ve gone to the other. If it was Ainsley, then Malcolm would be more distraught or at least a bit happier. If it was Bright who had to go, that meant the cause was direr—he seldom left Gil’s side until needed, which was probably now. “Bright, talk to me.”

“Call the police, dispatch someone here to our house,” Bright whispered. “Endicott… Endicott’s dead.”

Her breath stilled. Jessica might have had amazing lip reading skills or heard her son’s voice, because she stood abruptly, in fear and in worry.

“What do you mean?” Dani said in horror. “Bright? _Bright?!”_

“What the hell happened?” JT said as she hurried to put on her gear, the phone still stuck on her shoulder. “What’s with Bright?”

“Ma’am, you have to stay here, please,” Dani instructed Jessica, who only seemed to be shell-shocked and stuck on her chair. “JT. Call teams to the Whitly House.” JT’s eyes widened, but didn’t ask any further, running out of the room to notify the others.

She faced her phone and called for Bright again, but the line was already dead.

* * *

Even through the worry and fear, they arrived no less than five minutes to the place.

As she and JT headed the teams, Dani couldn’t stop the chill of fear through her spine. It still didn’t fail to jar her at all; this house was something she had watched in the news, being the grounds of the Surgeon’s victims. This was a place that she never thought she could ever set place upon. It was the stuff of nightmares, where groups of friends would whisper about the ghosts of the Quartet lingering around the house, never giving the family peace. This was the house where her friend Bright grew up, and this is where Gil almost died if it wasn’t for Bright himself saving him.

The back of Dani’s mind whispered: _what if he’s different? What if what you see is wrong?_

JT sent her a look, and she shook her head in return. _I’m just being facetious. Bright’s strong._

With him announcing their presence, the doors burst open—

And all thoughts went out of the window as they heard Malcolm’s shout from the living room.

“ _Oh_ _no.”_ JT breathed out, eyes wide. Dani stepped towards his line of view and swallowed her words. “Bright…”

Bright appeared in the hallway, looking harried, unkempt, that wild look in his eyes when he sees something frightening present in his gaze. JT had described it ‘ _gut-wrenching fear, twisted with a lot of guilt_ ’ when he had caught Martin Whitly’s almost-killer; Gil had described Bright as ‘ _scrambled and unfocused, you had to approach him slowly, or let him go to you_ ’ after his kidnapping and torture.

The difference now was that he didn’t _seem_ hurt. He just looked…

“Dani. She’s okay, I’m okay,” he whispered, eyes darting around as if to keep track everyone entering his house. His hand was shaking. She resisted the urge to take his hand in hers, just like what he did for her in the hospital. Bright swallowed loudly.

JT circled over the area, looking around. He directed the others to secure the house, to see if there were any other intruders or unwelcome personalities. The police tended to attract reporters, especially the Whitly house. However, even through the haze of activity, JT kept a watchful eye over Bright, understandably concerned.

Dani tore her gaze from Bright and surveyed the scene.

There was a gun on the table. A knife on the floor with blood. The pool of oozing red that undoubtedly belonged to the man on the floor, which was clearly Nicholas Endicott. She shook herself and looked at the figure on the sofa, whom she realized a second later was Ainsley.

“Ainsley.” She murmured, having met her only once and not as familiar to the other Whitly family members. She knew that the woman was in shock, and it was obvious from a mile away that she had done the deed. The blood splatters on her face—smudged in streaks, her maroon sweater sleeves disguising the blood—indicating the desperation to remove the stains.

The EMT placed a hand on Ainsley’s shoulder delicately. “Ms. Whi—“

“Ainsley.” Bright cut in, and the EMT looked at him in question, but abode by the request. “Don’t refer her to it. There’s—I don’t know if there might be a trigger. I’ve calmed her down enough to that state, and she seems okay, but she needs her vitals to be checked. I think she’s disassociating.”

Usually de-escalation would be required for the police to conduct, but Bright was a profiler and psychologist. He knew de-escalation techniques, and he was correct with saying that Ainsley didn’t seem to be in the right state of mind. Those who had killed for their first time—especially like _this,_ would’ve brought anyone to a state of trauma.

Dani knew that even if that was the case, if they weren't persistent or able to fight for Ainsley's case correctly, she would end up in jail.

The EMT assisted Ainsley to the ambulance. As she was led out of the house, Bright trailed after her tentatively.

A hand grasped Bright’s wrist, blocking his path towards the door. “Dude.” Bright’s eyes focused on JT. “We’ll need witness accounts, and… do you…” He searched his face. “You alright?”

Bright looked at him, then shook his head, letting out a shaky laugh. It didn't reassure anyone. “Not the worst situation I’ve been in, believe it or not, just a bit, a bit surprised that’s all.” His lips twitched as if remembering a fond memory, through it was marred with an ugly grimace. “This house is a _nightmare_ to be in. Can you believe it? If I had been arrested _here_ I’d be completing some weird trifecta!” He rubbed his hands. “If I was a bit faster…”

Dani recognized his deflection, being used to his way to undermine his current state of mind. The self-deprecating laugh chilled both her and JT, knowing enough that he was probably going somewhere dark, but also not knowing enough to pull him out of it.

“Faster?” She whispered, worried.

As if they had to emphasize that this was another messed up scenario involving this family, the voices of the officers and their other co-detectives documenting the crime filtered loudly, enough to hear them from the receiving area.

_“Slit throat, seven stab wounds… Blood loss and major arteries hit, major organs hit. Time of death; nine thirty at least, if the call was immediately after. The blood’s fresh so it checks out.”_

_“Suspect… only one. The woman was the only one with the blood, and all of the stab wounds indicate that they were close to the victim. All we need is intent, cause of the incident, and we can call the clean-up crew.”_

Bright’s hands shook more violently than Dani’s ever seen before; she reached out, but he retracted them under his armpits in an attempt to calm himself.

“I never expected her to…”, he swallowed heavily, and it was only reflex that he was able to be caught by both Dani and JT as he collapsed. “It happened… it happened so fast, she never…. There were signs, but I never… never did…”

“Breathe,” JT instructed, but worry was etched on his face. “Come on bro. Breathe or you’ll pass out—“

“I could’ve prevented it,” Bright mumbled, shaking as he was losing consciousness. His face contorted with guilt. “I saw the signs but I didn’t…”

He passed out in her arms, and Dani looked at JT, worry coursing through their veins.

As Dani and JT helped each other to bring him to the ambulance as they couldn't afford to let him stay in the house for a while, their thoughts encircled around what Gil had said; in the past, after Martin Whitly was brought into custody, Malcolm had been fine for a second. Then he was panicking, hyperventilating, going into shock. He had been muttering about the girl-in-the-box in fear and in guilt, worried out of his mind that he won't be able to do anything right after everything.

This incident—despite being two decades away already—was the same as the Surgeon’s arrest, with his sister in his place.

And Bright was in the middle of it again.  
  



	2. Magnet to Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm Bright doesn't exactly catch a break, but at least he catches a crime happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to add this chapter to give insight on a case that the Team would be working on! Also, Jessica really tries. I love her, and as well as every character in this series. 
> 
> Also forgive me if I don't really name One Particular Area, because while I'm aware that the series is in New York, I am not a New Yorker nor an American to fully simulate the place. Sorry for that, but I do try my best! Thank you!

**MALCOLM BRIGHT**

SIX HOURS LATER, 3 AM

“You’re not  _ serious!” _

Bright’s mouth was agape in disbelief, staring at his mother who had just probably spoken the most—not  _ stupidest,  _ really… probably—ridiculous set of words ever uttered by her. By her standards, that was quite the sentence.

“I am, Malcolm.” Jessica frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re—you’re  _ debating  _ me on this!”

“You’re forbidding me to see Ainsley!” He gestured wildly, trying to convey that  _ this situation is bizarre but she’s still my sister  _ in his actions. “Ainsley  _ needs  _ support right now. More than ever!”

Jessica clicked her tongue.

Malcolm was reminded of times when his mother allowed— _pushed,_ sometimes— his meetings with his father, while Ainsley was pulled away, or stayed at home. How Ainsley and he, even before his father's arrest, had separated rooms because he sometimes sleepwalked and spooked Ainsley. (Also, because they were rich.)

“Don’t do this again, Mother.” He pleaded. “You never sheltered me away from—from Doctor Whitly, why should—“

“Oh I might as well have, you know!” She protested, whipping her arm. “We aren’t talking about that blasted monster of a father. We are talking about your—your sister,” her words quivered, “—that has to be, has to be put in the NYPD’s watch list and will be evaluated psychologically!  _ Malcolm,  _ your sister just stabbed—“, she paused. “She stabbed an awful man, really, Nicholas is slimy—“

Bright raised his eyebrow.

“—but my point still stands! The only time you can see her is when you want to check up on her! But no, you’re not going to stay here in our house, because god knows what kind of hell this property has brought upon us already,” images of the Surgeon’s and the Junkyard Killer’s foray in their house flashed before their eyes, “—and my god, Malcolm.” She took his hands in hers. “Let me do the right thing.”

Malcolm stared at his mother's hands, quiet and contemplating.

It’s been six hours since he’d seen his little sister kill Endicott brutally. (There was no other word for it.) Six hours since he demanded to go to the hospital to see if Ainsley was okay. Five hours since his account was taken by the police. Four hours since he was blocked by the police and was said to stay away for the meantime, and that the charges against him were tentatively being reviewed and that he should be on stand-by. Three hours of agonizing wait, accumulating to him running towards Gil’s room to calm himself.

Ten minutes before his mother had called him to say that he wouldn’t be allowed to their house for a while till the police and the psychologists clear him, or if Ainsley was given the verdict till trial.

“How is distancing me from her in her time of need the right thing, Mother? Trauma patients need  _ support. _ ”

From the look that his Mother gave him, it was obvious that he was just stalling. Doing the roundabout.

“Malcolm, sweetheart.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “The psychologists said that they don’t know Ainsley’s trigger yet. For all we know, it might be you.” She took a moment to study his face—probably thinking  _ my son hasn’t even bathed yet, he stinks,— _ when something dawned on her. “Not even mentioning this house to  _ you  _ especially! Dear god, you have to stay and keep yourself safe, I hope you understand.”

There was a massive, understandable point that she was making in her order. With a memory as vivid as his and a bad streak of traumatic events occurring in the same house, it made sense that he should distance himself from everything, even for a short while. Places usually trigger response from trauma, and there was nothing more detrimental to his health than exposing himself to triggers to be able to gain an answer, and vice versa to his sister.

Though there wasn’t exactly a harrowing question right now. Nothing like  _ did my father actually drug me _ or  _ is there really a girl-in-the-box that I may have killed— _ but it was still something that he wanted to know, and he knew that Ainsley would love to know as well.

_ Is Ainsley… okay? _

Something must have shown on his face—the ‘hurt puppy dog look’ Gil coined—because his mother caved faster than she ever did.

“Don’t turn that on me, it’s been a stressful day,” she pleaded, making Bright immediately feel bad. “I don’t—with you with the allegations, then with  _ Gil,  _ then  _ Ainsley,”  _ her breath hitched, as she tried not to cry. He reached out for his pocket square and handed it to her, which she took gratefully. He tightened his fist into a ball to stop himself from shaking. “Oh,  _ dear,  _ is my d-daughter o-okay?”

The break in her voice compelled him to take a step closer and hug her, because he wanted to know too.

“What is…  _ wrong  _ with… with her, with me, with our family?” Tears started to fall on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes to provide what his words couldn’t say for the moment. Even _he_ didn't know, even after his extensive research and classes he had taken throughout the years. 

“I t-tried, so h-hard, but she feels…”

“It was my fault,” he murmured, remembering the hard work their mother had gone through to keep them relatively safe. It was sometimes hard, and money doesn’t really resolve everything, but she did her best especially it was her husband’s and their family’s reputation that she was trying to hold together. She, nor Ainsley, was supposed to ever relive the hardships that had transpired over two decades ago.

The shaking wouldn't stop, and he tried to smile despite feeling horrible. “I was supposed to protect her, I was supposed to pull the trigger and injure him. I was supposed to—“

He felt himself being pushed back, forcing him to meet his mother’s eyes. “Oh for hell’s sake  _ Malcolm!  _ Don’t even try to take blame for… for any of this! You,” she turned around and breathed deeply. “You… I know you, Malcolm, and even if you have—even if you have problems with sleeping, and making relationships, I know that you were such a good person,” her eyes filled with tears. 

“I—trusted Ainsely, and I never—“

She broke off, squeezing her eyes shut.

After a few moments, where Bright waited for her to say maybe one of those reassuring things along the lines of  _ your father is to blame for this, he should rot in hell,  _ she quietly said, “I need a drink.”

She walked away, calling her driver to bring her home.

Bright couldn’t fault her for that.

* * *

_ “You’re just like your  _ **_mother’s son_ ** _.” _

_ “Malcolm! Please, please go to the hospital,  _ **_Gil, he’s—!_ ** _ He’s—“ _

_ “What… what happened?  _ **_Malcolm_ ** _?” _

_ “My  _ **_girl.”_ **

Bright launched out of the chair he was sitting on, pushing against the bed, chest heaving like a drowning man in a hot desert.

He should be accustomed to it. He  _ should  _ be. He’s always had night terrors, always had to stop himself from sleeping due to the memories that resurface, always had to make others safe from his episodes.

But it’s just been a few hours since everything had happened. And everything…

Every stab had been embedded in his brain, the slit throat of Endicott a permanent fixture in his mind.

How he looked at him in horrific surprise, how he turned around and met gazes with his killer.

How he fell on the floor, blood drenching their floors.

How Ainsley had a blank-faced stare, and how she shuddered as she was brought back to reality.

Memories replayed and replayed, over, and over, and over and  _ over  _ again, plaguing his mind. It was a poisonous snake, writhing around his thoughts, entangling them and messing them up to the point that he wanted to hurl over and lay down for the rest of his life. He wanted the thoughts to stop. He wanted to go back and feel—feel safe, feel that as the son of a serial killer, that he should’ve been the only one that should be punished.

It was nauseating.

The steady beeping sounds of Gil’s monitor was the only thing keeping him sane as of the moment, sometimes loud enough as if it was actively trying to keep him out of his spiral. The  _ beep beep beep _ reminded him to breathe, a small caress of genuine care that his mind was probably fabricating in desperation of normalcy.

It was probably the most caring machine he’s ever had, second to his refrigerator. It was morbidly funny to him that the machine was attached to Gil, who, if he was awake, would pat him on the back and hug him. Tell him that he’s got his back, that Dani and JT and Edrisa were there to support him; that he won’t ever let him go astray on his watch.

He bowed his head onto the bed and shuddered out a breath, his mind rewinding to his mother’s final reminder before she went away to go back to their home.

_ All you have to do now is head back home, okay?  _ His mother reminded him, hand squeezing his arm. Her gaze lingered for a moment on Gil’s still figure.  _ Please take care of yourself. I’m going to ask your team to pull you out from your job for a while. You need the rest. _

_ I don’t need—,  _ he protested, frowning.  _ I’m fine. It’s Ainsley that needs… that needs help. _

_ What your sister needs and what you need are two different things,  _ she said, headstrong and determined as always. _ It hasn’t even been a day, Malcolm! I know that Detective Powell and Detective Tarmel are at least  _ **_kind_ ** _ to themselves. I know they’ll at least be rational, but for once in your life Malcolm, listen to me,”  _ she begged. (His mother never begs.)

_ Listen to me, and listen—listen to what Gil might have to say. Take. A. Break. _

He unclasped his hands and put his hands on his face, not feeling any better at all at the prospect of leaving the one thing that he could control.

“You picked a hell of a time to sleep, Gil. Usually it’s me.” Bright mumbled jokingly, eyes drooping in fatigue. 

_ Did I just _ _really..._ he thought, hand shaking in realization. His eyes snapped open awake. _Did everything really just happen..._

Everything that had transpired throughout the day had just come after him, and for the first time in weeks, he felt genuine, bone-numbing exhaustion. 

He wanted to rest. He wanted to sleep. He _craved_ a night where his body would just succumb to exhaustion, and preferably right now.

But he couldn’t go and endanger Gil. Never. He didn’t want to accidentally hit another person in his sleep again, or the hospital may actually just kick him out.

He stood up, flailing a little to work up his brain. “Good night, Lieutenant Gil Arroyo,” he murmured in a joking way, because he knew that Gil hated it when he used his full title, ignoring his medically-induced comatose state. “Promise that I’ll actually ‘listen’ to you, or whatever Mother says.”

* * *

The crick in his neck from sleeping like a slouched teddy bear was going to be felt for  _ days,  _ Bright thought as he walked back to his home.

While he’d rather take his car, he might’ve made a few wrong decisions—thinking that walking will quiet his thoughts even for a moment, that grabbing a pack of KitKat bars would magically make him energized (should’ve brought a Snickers pack) or that jogging in a suit would even be remotely helpful. Turns out, only one of them would work, and that’s jogging in the suit because New York in the early morning was prime suit-wearing jogger conditions, apparently.

(It was not, he was just horribly acquainted with physical activity in suits.)

The walk made him realize, however, that the hospital was quite far, so that was another mistake. He had to take a detour because there were groups of people shouting at one another, and he had felt that it was only a cuss word away from a beer bottle being chucked out of a three-story window. Normally he'd try to help people get along, but his mind was a mess and honestly, he wasn't ready for more... _events._

So he had to take the longer (longest, really) route to his apartment, and the quiet one at that.

_ I’ve been hit by three people now,  _ Bright thought, interested in why it was like that. Not everything needed a question nor an answer, but it was better than replaying Eve’s dead, drowned face or Ainsley’s spaced-off stare. Or Gil in the hospital.

His thoughts crash-dived to him being put on leave, which made him bitter but also a bit surprised.

He had expected his mother to remove him fully—or block him, whatever she could, because she’s good at that—from the NYPD, but she only requested for a leave. He thought Dani and JT would’ve left him after seeing the crime scene, but Dani had opted to help him through to waking up, and JT had actually driven him to where Ainsley was brought. They also lectured him to stay home and be at home or they’d actually put CCTV cameras around his place as a threat.

It was surprising. He actually had friends.

As his thoughts wandered to the nice territory—admittedly a good but rare place to be for one person such as Malcolm Bright especially around this time—his head whipped around when he saw two bright flashing lights from a thin intersection.

Then the sound of screeching tires overpowered the buzz of New York.

Two gunshots.

A loud thud and yelling.

The car zipped past him—and for a second he realized that the yelling came from the people  _ in  _ the black, no-license car, as if they were arguing—making him drop his bag of Kitkats on the curb. He could only identify the car, a black Mercedes-Benz.

As if in slow motion, he saw the person who was shot—a woman not younger than twenty-one—as soon as she fell on the side of the road. The arm was gushing with blood, and the stomach—he didn’t know if the bullet had penetrated the stomach—was oozing. She probably had a concussion by the way that she had fallen. He sprinted towards her and slid to her side, immediately worried at her lack of response.

“Clear the area!” He shouted as he removed his jacket and triaged the arm of the victim, putting pressure on the stomach of the woman.

_ Hit and run, .357 caliber magnum revolver from the looks of it,  _ he thought as he dialed 9-1-1. The line was on-hold as he checked her vitals, and he looked up to see a few strangers had blocked off the path to encircle their area, one he could hear calling 9-1-1 as well. Someone handed him a first-aid kit, but he didn’t know who.

_ Not what I exactly need,  _ he thought as he cleaned and put antiseptic on the wound. There was a pattern of lines that stained red under the ribcage which made him worried. _Think Malcolm!_ _ I need… what do I need to alleviate… _

“Anyone got a… a—saran wrap, duct tape, plastic bag or envelope?” He rattled, desperately trying to cover the hole.  _ I don’t know the path of the bullet, it could’ve—would've hit a major organ, but I’ll try to do my best. It looks like it had hit the stomach, which means peritonitis is possible—,  _ he put antiseptic and darted his eyes around.

“This girl’s got a tape,” one of the guys around him spoke up, running towards him, a large scotch tape in hand.

“Does a Ziplock—“

“Yes!” Bright exclaimed, catching the thrown Ziplock, the gears of his mind running fast as his hands moved faster on autopilot.

**_“Malcolm, Gil—Gil’s in the hospital, he got stabbed in the stomach, Malcolm please hurry—!”_ **

The blood was pooling around the ziplock back as he strapped it, feeling hot on his fingers, overflowing and drenching the road. His focus zeroed in onto saving the woman’s life, not being able to hear the other people and the cars around him. Someone was speaking, but all he could see was the blood, the  _ blood _ , the  **_blood_ ** _ — _

**_“He went to the house and—Endicott made his bodyguard stab him and he fell and he didn’t get up—“_ **

His breath hitched, hands shaking as he finished the tape on the woman’s torso. She wasn’t breathing anymore.  _ Where was the ambulance? She can’t die here, I’ve tried my best and she can’t just die here— _

_ Did… did he almost die from this, from a wound to the stomach? _

He closed his eyes, as he remembered Gil’s intubated figure in the Operating Room, needing surgery after surgery.

Would this woman survive?

**_“Malcolm, I’m so sorry I tried to contain the blood but I don’t know much about—about treating wounds like you, I’m so sorry I tried—“_ **

_ I’m sorry I wasn’t there— _

It was only when a hand dropped onto his shoulder that was brought out of his panicked trance.

“Sir,” the paramedic gently called after him. The ambulance was near them, and how he never heard the blaring noise of the van, he didn’t know. “Sir, we’d like to thank you for the efforts, we’ll take over. She needs the ambulance.”

He removed his hands, eyes wide.

“Y-Yeah!” He stammered, sitting on the curb, adrenaline rushing in his veins. He wanted to ask,  _ when did you get here,  _ or tell them  _ please locate the path of the bullet, I didn’t see—I didn’t see the path of the bullet I’m sorry,  _ but he knew he must’ve been so hyper-focused on saving the woman that he had just blocked off everything. Through the police blocking off the people, he furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to steady his breathing.

“ _ Bright?”  _ A familiar voice called, voice laced with incredulity and exasperation. “What the hell, man?”

“Hey,” he smiled sheepishly at the face of a shocked JT. “Guess I didn’t get to go home, huh?”

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear your thoughts, and I would appreciate it if you comment, give kudos and follow the story! I promise I'd be doing extensive research and planning on this, so you can expect this story not to go off in unrealistic details... just a bit of writer's artistic integrity and admittedly lack of knowledge to power through. 
> 
> Thank you!


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